Sleep Tight
by Llamaesque
Summary: Clarke isn't sure exactly when she fell into Bellamy's orbit. All she knows is that his is the face she seeks out in every crowd, that his is the voice she always longs to hear.


Clarke isn't sure exactly when she fell into Bellamy's orbit. All she knows is that his is the face she seeks out in every crowd, that his is the voice she always longs to hear.

After spending four months with him on Earth, Clarke regularly finds herself amazed that she ever lived in a world without Bellamy Blake. How had they spent their whole lives within a few hundred meters but once never met? Clarke searched her memories again and again for some glimpse of him—every Unity Day celebration, every afternoon spent in her parents' cabin, staring out at the glowing blue-green orb of their ancestral home. But Bellamy was never there.

Now he's wherever she looks. He's the first person she sees most days, lugging in fresh water for the camp long before anyone else has woken up. And their nightly meeting at the wall has become an unspoken tradition, precious time alone to compare notes and try to figure out how they'll keep everyone alive for another day. When their eyes meet, sometimes she can't believe her old life was even real. Clarke without Bellamy? Impossible.

That's the first thing Clarke thinks the night she sees Jaspser drag Bellamy into camp, soaked to the bone and slipping in and out of consciousness. It's so cold that steam ghosts up off his skin and traces every breath Jasper takes as he pulls Bellamy toward his tent. Leaning helplessly on the smaller boy's shoulder, big, strong, capable Bellamy looks weak and vulnerable. A wave of panic crashes through Clarke

"What happened?" She demands, racing forward to help support Bellamy.

"He fell into the lake," Japser responds ruefully. "The fishing thing isn't as easy as we thought it would be."

The winter hasn't been kind to the hundred. If they'd landed even a few hundred miles to the north, they wouldn't be alive by now. But here, snowfalls are brief and never change the landscape for long. Animals don't seem to hibernate, so there's still good hunting. But Clarke knows that damn lake has been tempting Bellamy for months, in spite of possible run-ins with giant, killer snakes, in spite of the slippery rocks that make the path along its bank treacherous even in daylight.

Bellamy's tent is frigid and dark. He's the only one of the hundred who refuses to share—Clarke is pretty sure it's because it would cramp his style, preventing the never-ending parade of girls from finding their way into his bed. There's a stack of dry wood by the door, and Clarke quickly sets to work building a fire near Bellamy's makeshift bed. The smoke will be awful, but her first priority is getting him warm.

"How long?" With no-nonsense hands, she strips Bellamy of his wet clothes. He doesn't protest, just struggles to keep his feet. He's shivering violently, his teeth knocking together in his skull. When she's divested Bellamy of everything but his underwear, Clarke freezes. He's so skinny, too skinny, all whipcord muscles and protruding bones.

"Ten minutes? Maybe fifteen?" Jasper hovers nearby, occasionally stepping forward with the obvious intent to help but never quite daring to touch Bellamy, even in his reduced state.

"Fine. He'll be okay." Turning her attention to Bellamy, Clarke repeats herself, doing her best impression of her mother's supremely confident Patient Voice: "You'll be okay." He nods, arms tight around his middle, rivulets of icy water tracing rivers down his bare chest. She guides Bellamy to his pallet, pulling the covers tight to his chin. The fire is already starting to warm the room, and she can see his shivers are beginning to subside.

Perched beside him, Clarke presses the back her hand against his forehead. His skin is cold and clammy, but there's none of the blueness around his lips or fingers that would mean that Bellamy—and by extension, the rest of the hundred—is in real trouble. Now that Clarke's really sure he will be okay, she feels shaky and a little nauseated. Which, of course, means that she's about to lash out.

"Maybe if you had one percent body fat, things like this wouldn't be such a crisis, Bellamy." Clarke just can't help herself. Anger is preferable to fear, and she gives herself over to it fully. "You need to eat more. All this moving around, all this exercise, but you barely eat enough to keep a little girl alive." Grabbing a discarded shirt from the ground (dirty, probably), Clarke uses it to dry his hair with brutal efficiency.

Finally, Bellamy is alert enough to speak. "I'm all right, Princess. Don't get your tiara all askew."

"This is not a conversation your cute little-boy dimples are going get you out of, Bellamy. I need you. We need you. So don't fuck this up. No more messing around at the lake when you haven't eaten all day, no more giving your rations to other people." From the corner of her eye, Clarke sees Jasper creeping out of the tent. It's no surprise—she's well aware that a genuine Clarke Griffin explosion is enough to send most anyone running. Anyone but Bellamy, anyway. He smirks up at her.

"It's no big deal." Much to Clarke's surprise, it's possible to shrug while laying down. She can see the motion through Bellamy's thin blankets, and in response shrugs out of her jacket to add it to the pile. "I'm used to eating less than other people. My whole life, my mom and I split our food with Octavia. I don't even notice being hungry anymore."

Clarke simultaneously wants to strangle Bellamy and hug him. She paces the tent, stoking the fire and rubbing warmth into her bare arms. There's nobody else who can infuriate her like he can, and Clarke thinks she's beginning to understand why: He's the only one who really knows her. They've shared a heavy burden for a long time. Working together to build this place, to keep everyone fed and happy(ish), has knitted them together as surely as a broken bone will fuse into one. Sometimes it feels as if he reads her mind, as if they could conduct entire conversations through nothing more than a quirk of an eyebrow or an exasperated sigh.

When Clarke has burned off enough energy tending the fire, she responds. "For everyone's sake, you have to take care of yourself."

"Don't think that I don't notice you giving your rations away." In a huff, Bellamy rolls onto his side to stare at her. "Did you even keep any of the blankets from the bunker for yourself? You're worse than me."

"That's different. I spend my days bandaging people's blisters and trying to re-invent medical science. I don't need the calories you do, out hunting. And in the girls' tent there's plenty of body heat to keep us all warm." Clarke touches Bellamy's forehead, his neck. He's warm again. Safe.

And then Bellamy says the most surprising thing Clarke's ever heard. "Shut up and get in here." He raises his arm to lift a corner of the blankets, as if he expects her to slide into bed next to him.

"What?" Clarke blinks in amazement.

"You heard me. You're the cold one now—we'll both warm up faster if you get under the blankets, too." The fire stains the tent walls with shadows, and for a long heartbeat its crackle is the only sound to be heard.

Bellamy's right. Clarke is cold; she can feel goosebumps rising up on her skin, and her nose is almost numb. But his bed? "I wouldn't want to catch an STD from that bed of yours," she retorts. "Every girl in this camp has had her turn in there."

"You're not every girl in this camp. We'll talk tomorrow. Tonight, just sleep." He grabs Clarke's arm, pulling her down beside him as effortlessly as if she were a child, a doll. Struggling against him doesn't even occur to her—between the heat of his body and the warmth of the fire, Bellamy's bed is heavenly warm and more comfortable than she would have thought possible. He pulls the covers over their heads, and suddenly they're the only two people on their own, private Ark. His breath is hot against her skin.

"Finally, Little Red Riding Hood is in bed with the Big Bad Wolf." Bellamy inches closer to her, snaking one arm around Clarke's waist and settling his chin on top of her head.

"I'm not afraid of you." Clarke hates the tremor in her voice that makes her sound uncertain; it's the most truthful sentence she's spoken in her entire life. Bellamy is her partner in every way she can think of, except this one. And Clarke has known for a long time that she loves him. The way he thinks, how honest and passionate he is, how he protects Octavia. And Clarke. She doesn't know what will happen tomorrow, or how spending a night like this will change them. But she doesn't really care. Bellamy is all she can see, all she can hear, all she can feel.

"Good. Because I can't sleep with you out there, where anything could happen. I need to know you're safe." His voice is always different when they're alone together, softer and less sharp. But today there's something else. Tenderness? "Sleep tight, Princess."

She does. Burrowed under his blankets, wrapped in his arms, Clarke sleeps like she hasn't slept since she was a little girl. Since before she knew her dad's secret, since before they came to this horrible, wonderful planet.


End file.
